Contingency
by Dr Captain Divine
Summary: Three months after the incident, Wilson has finally fallen into the routine of taking care of House. WxH
1. remembrance

**TITLE:** Contingency  
**AUTHOR:** Captain Divine  
**SUMMARY:** Three months after the incident, Wilson has finally fallen into the routine of taking care of House.  
**PAIRINGS:** House/Wilson  
**SPOILERS:** None in the chapter. . .  
**DISCLAIMER: **NOT MINE!  
**A/N: **No clue. Seemed like a good idea at the time, please **review** if you'd like me to continue.

* * *

House had never been easy to deal with before the incident, and Wilson was sure he was being difficult on purpose afterwards. And now, as House sat on the floor between his legs, amusing himself with his big tennis ball, Wilson thought about how they had come to be this way. 

–

Wilson remembered the day he found House lying on the kitchen floor, half-dead. He'd slid across the floor on the blood, collapsing beside his friend. He'd slapped House a few times, called for an ambulance, and put those years of med school to use.

He'd found the source of the bleeding (the head, multiple slashes and a rather large gash across his stomach) and applied pressure, realizing how much he hated EMTs. He noticed the blank, open stare in House's eyes, the obvious crack in his skull, and the possible culprit for that wound, House's own cane, snapped in two. When the ambulance arrived, he'd ridden with House over to Princeton General, where Wilson was told to wait outside as he went into surgery.

Four phone calls, a cup of coffee, and three and a half hours later, the Chief Surgeon, a man called Dr. Taylor, informed him that the bleeding had be stopped and he was now in the ICU for recovery, but had become hypertensive during surgery and had to be shocked back to life when his heart stopped. Wilson had thanked him for his service and rushed off to see House, but was denied access to the ICU for the time being.

So he had made some more phone calls, telling Cuddy and House's team what had happened. They'd asked questions he couldn't answer and answered questions he couldn't think of. Afterwards, Wilson had paced and thought, and thought and paced.

It wasn't until days later, when House was stable enough to be transferred to Princeton-Plainsboro for further observation under Dr. Cuddy, that Wilson would finally find out what really happened to his friend.

Well, House wasn't one to talk when Wilson was finally allowed in the ICU to see him. He didn't expect him to be, but was secretly hoping that House would wake up and make a crack about his protectiveness. He needed to be reminded that the world was still there.

The DA had informed Wilson that they "were doing all they could to solve the case". That wasn't nearly good enough for him, and he called the New Jersey state Police Department every day until they threatened to drop the case.

Wilson had ceased his calls.

But one day, while he sat in his office, in the middle of a meeting with a patient, his cell phone had rung, and he scrambled to pick it up, quickly excusing himself from the room and went out on the balcony. "Hello?" he had answered, his voice shaking.

"Dr. Wilson? This is Detective Carlson from the NJPD. There's been a breakthrough in the case," the voice had said on the other end, his voice resonating without emotion.

Wilson's breath had caught in his throat for a moment, and he had to wait a moment to speak. "Yes?" he finally had choked out.

"Would you rather come down to the station?" Carlson had proposed, but Wilson was quick to oppose.

"No!" he had shouted, then realized how rude it sounded. "Sorry, I just. . .could you just tell me now?" Wilson leaned against the brick half-wall that separated his balcony from House's.

"Alright. After some further investigation of the apartment and some tracing of phone calls, we've discovered that Gregory House had some pretty serious deals with some pretty serious people. Part of the New Jersey mob, I believe. After some sketchy transactions, supposedly a black market Vicodin purchase according to some support by Detective Tritter, Mr. House apparently didn't pay his end of the deal. His apartment was obviously entered by force, and after some further examination of Mr. House's body," Wilson had cringed. "We found evidence of rape."

It was the last part that really hit Wilson hard. He had stared forward, toward the door to his office, and watched his patient fidget nervously. He didn't speak, only thought. _No, House couldn't be raped. He's too. . .strong for that_.

But Carlson wasn't done. "And, I apologise, Dr. Wilson, but the evidence shows that this wasn't the first time."

Wilson had felt his throat close up and a burning sensation pushing at his eyes. He nodded, then realised that Carlson couldn't see him. "Okay," he said, for it was the only word he could think of.

"That's all we've got for now," Carlson said. "I'm very sorry. We will call you if there's any further developments."

And he had hung up.

Wilson had still held the phone to his ear, the dial tone piercing the silence. He finally snapped the phone shut and crossed his arms, diverting his eyes to the ground. He had studied the patterns in the bricks, and conjured up House's shadow standing beside him on the other side of the wall.

He had smiled to himself, remembering the first time House had kissed him. It'd been right here, on the balcony, each one of them on their own side. Wilson had been stressed and House had been all but in a forgiving mood, for his patient had gotten worse, and his team was missing the most obvious clue to solving the case. They'd both gone out there simultaneously.

Neither of them had spoken, they only looked out into the fading sunlight. Wilson had found it in himself to walk closer to the dividing wall, and House and followed his lead. They stood as close as the wall would let them be, and looked at each other.

It was quick and neat, but meaningful. Their lips simply brushed together and their hands stayed at their sides, but it was something they'd both wanted for a long time.

They never told anyone about the kiss or the relationship that followed, and no one seemed to notice. Wilson knew someone would find out someday, but as long as he could come home to House, it didn't matter.

And then, as Wilson stood, imagining House standing beside him, consoling him, he had gone back into his office, told his patient that their meeting would need to be rescheduled, and had went straight to the ICU, and had spent the remaining hours of the day by House's side, watching the tubes breathe, the medicine fix and the man sleep, mulling over the information he'd been told.

–

Months had passed since those days, and Wilson tried not to remember the days in-between. House had finally awoken, and slowly recovered from his flesh wounds. But he never spoke. There were meetings with psychiatrists and conferences with specialists, but never once did House speak. Wilson had taken him home to his apartment, making sure it looked exactly the way it did before the incident. House had never shown any apprehension or fear, remaining complacent. He did what Wilson told him to, let Wilson dress and bathe him, all without the normal refusal and opposition Wilson had come to know from his friend.

And as they sat together, in the office of another psychiatrist Cuddy had made an appointment with, House silently playing with his ball, as innocently as a child, Wilson caressing House's hair absentmindedly, the world went on around them.


	2. life as we know it

**TITLE:** Contingency  
**AUTHOR:** Captain Divine  
**SUMMARY:** Three months after the incident, Wilson has finally fallen into the routine of taking care of House.  
**PAIRINGS:** House/Wilson  
**SPOILERS:** Not in this chapter either.  
**DISCLAIMER:** As much as I wish I did, I don't own House (but if I did, season 3 wouldn't suck so much).  
**A/N:** Wow, seven reviews in one day. I guess I should write stuff like this more often. Thanks to all of you that bothered to review, you're the best. Here's another chapter. The next one will come out sometime AFTER 8 May (that's a Tuesday, if you're wondering). **Review**, please.

* * *

"Dr. Wilson, Dr. House?" the soft female voice of Dr. Erin Lang called their names, poking her head out from behind a door. Wilson stood up, carefully stepping over House. He held out his hand to help House up, but the man paid no attention to the gesture. He continued to play with the ball, his face as placid and emotionless as ever.

Wilson kneeled beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Again, House paid no mind until Wilson touched his face. The contact of skin on skin made House flinch, and his body contracted. House looked up at Wilson, and the oncologist smiled warmly. "Come on," he coaxed, hooking his arm around House's, making sure that their hands did not touch.

He pulled House to his feet and grabbed his cane, and the two of them made their way across the waiting room to Dr. Lang. Several patients in the room glanced upwards at the men, looks of interest and pity crossing their faces.

House and Wilson entered the office. It was a small room with a large window that took up most of the wall, letting the May sunshine stream though effortlessly. Bookshelves lined the wall behind her desk, and file cabinets donned the opposite side. Two chairs were arranged in front of the desk, and a large armchair resided behind it.

Dr. Lang smiled at House. He had no reaction; he simply stared out the window, looking down at the entrance to the building. "Dr. Wilson, I'd like to speak with you first, if that's all right," she said, sweeping a stray tendril of hair off her face. Wilson nodded and took one of the seats before the desk. She sat behind it, but kept her eyes fixed on House, who remained standing in front of the window.

"You can sit, House," Wilson told him softly. House did not look at him, but slowly and stiffly lowered himself to the floor, still looking off beyond the glass. Dr. Lang look her eyes off House and smiled again, this time to Wilson.

"I've heard about Dr. House," she began, the same way every psychiatrist started with him. Wilson found himself practically mouthing the words 'I was looking through the file, and recognised the name and thought "wow"!' as Dr. Lang said them, and shut his eyes to keep himself from rolling them. _Honestly, they must rehearse_, Wilson thought, tuning out of the conversation.

He re-opened his eyes and studied Dr. Lang. She was pretty, but her slate grey eyes were demeaning, condescending. Wilson could tell from her complection that she was nearing fifty-five, but was desperately relying on supposed 'anti-wrinkle' cream to knock 15 years off her age. Her hair was dyed four shades too wrong to match her eyebrows, and her roots showed a very basic brunette underneath the redhead.

All the while, Wilson nodded at the appropriate times and made hand gestures at the correct intervals. He'd done this many times before.

Twelve times, to be exact.

A month ago, Cuddy had recommended a psychiatrist that helped a friend of hers. Wilson had stopped himself from laughing at the thought of House going to a shrink, and when he told him, he almost expected House to recover out of spite.

Ever since that day, Wilson has spent hours carting House around to therapy across the state, all the appointments funded by the hospital. Wilson did not mind taking House, and he still believed that there might be someone who could help him, but the amount of time it was taking to find them was unnerving.

Wilson tuned back into the conversation to hear the question, "Do you think the surgery might have had something to do with his lack of verbal communication?"

"The crack in his skull was nowhere near the part of the brain that controls emotions or speech, and when he flatlined, his brain was oxygen-deprived for less than 20 seconds. I don't think the surgery has anything to do with it," Wilson responded, the answer all too memorized. Dr. Lang nodded and clicked closed the pen she was using to take notes, closed the file folder and looked over to House, then back to Wilson.

"I'd like to work with him now," she said, smiling again. "Alone, if you don't mind." Wilson nodded and rose from his seat and went to leave the room, first leaning down to House and placing a soft, quick kiss on the top of his head.

"Be good," he murmured, not positive House needed the warning, but reminded himself that this was, in fact, House, regardless of his mental state. He exited the room and spent the next half hour pacing the waiting room, much like he'd done when House had been in the hospital.

When the door to the office opened again, Wilson quickly snapped his head up. He could tell from the look on Dr. Lang's face that there hadn't been much of a breakthrough, but could only hope that she was bluffing, and House, _his _House, would limp out of the room, give him a rough kiss and make a crack about Dr. Lang's hair colour.

But none of that happened, and Wilson walked back into the room, accepting the fact that another doctor couldn't help him. He reestablished his seat in front of the desk and looked over at House, who was still sitting in front of the window, same as before.

Wilson sighed and turned back to look at Dr. Lang. "I'm sorry," she apologised. "I know how hard it must be for you to see your friend go through this. It's quite frightening when such a strong person breaks down like this. But it's possible for just one incident to send someone over the edge." Wilson only nodded, looking past her towards the bookshelves. "I'd like to ask you a few questions," she said, and she made another fleeting glance to House, who hadn't moved.

Wilson nodded again. "Okay," Dr. Lang started. "You wrote 'friend' on the file, but it may be valuable for me to know. . .were the two of you ever. . .intimate?"

Wilson smiled to himself. "A few months ago, we. . .sort of realised our feelings," he started awkwardly. He'd never spoken to anyone about their relationship before. "And ever since then, I moved in with him. But we. . .never actually. . ."

And then it dawned on him. He and House had never had sex. Wilson had thought it was only because House was uncomfortable about their relationship, but now it all made sense.

House was being raped all throughout their relationship.

Wilson put a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes closed. He felt the guilt well up inside him. Pointless guilt, useless guilt, but guilt all the same. Wilson knew it hadn't been his fault, and there was nothing he could have done to stop it, but he hated himself for it.

Ten minutes later, Wilson had thanked Dr. Lang and was now driving back to House's apartment. House sat in the passenger's seat, looking at the buildings and trees race by the window. Wilson knew he was speeding, but he couldn't bring himself to slow down.

When Wilson finally parked on the street in front of the apartment building, he took the keys out of the ignition, but did not get out of the car. He looked over at House, who was now studying the green door of the building. Wilson watched House's blank eyes, thinking about the sharp, inquisitive blue that they used to be. The eyes that loved to solve the puzzle, to figure it out.

Those eyes were gone now, and Wilson missed them.

He stepped out of the car and went around the front to House's side. He reached for the handle, but to his surprise, it opened by itself. House pushed the door open and stepped out. Wilson laughed in surprise and let a smile cross his face. House had never done that before. _Maybe she did do something after all,_ Wilson thought, closing the door behind House and leading him to the door. _Self-sufficiency, even _that_ small amount is something_.

Wilson lead House inside and turned on the lights. House went and sat on the couch while Wilson went to check the messages. There was one, from Cuddy asking how the appointment went. Wilson decided he'd tell her tomorrow at work, and took off his jacket.

He sat down next to House, who was staring at the wall. Wilson reached out and touched House's right leg, carefully avoiding his scar. The contact made House flinch again, but Wilson whispered to him that it was all right, and that he wouldn't hurt him.

Not long after, Wilson took House into the bedroom and slowly undressed him. He'd fantasised so many times before of the both of them ripping off each other's clothing in a frenzy of kisses, but knew that the circumstance he imagined wouldn't happen any time soon.

When he had helped House into a pair of light pants and a t-shirt, he peeled back the covers and let House crawl into bed. House pulled the blanket around himself tight and Wilson saw him bring up his legs to a form of a fetal position.

And before he left the room to sit in the living room and hate himself for what he couldn't prevent, he kissed the top of House's head again. "I love you," he whispered.


	3. what he didn't have to do

**TITLE:** Contingency  
**AUTHOR:** Captain Devine  
**SUMMARY:** Three months after the incident, Wilson has finally fallen into the routine of taking care of House.  
**PAIRINGS:** House/Wilson  
**SPOILERS:** YES, for 3x21 "Family"  
**DISCLAIMER: **If I owned House, would I write pointless little stories about it?  
**A/N: **Here's chapter three! I needed something confirmed from 3x22 to continue, and now that it has been, I'm pissed off at David Shore, but it added to the story. Please **review**, and the next chapter will be up sometime soon (I'm going to try to finish this by 16-5-07, since the next day is my birthday and then I'm off to Virginia for four days).

* * *

Wilson hated waking House up. He hated wrenching House out of his dream world, bringing him back to the reality of his suffering. He had to wake him though, for he had to go to work and he dared not leave House alone.

But as he pushed open the door to the bedroom, knotting his tie around his neck, he noticed that the bed was empty and made. "House?" Wilson called, feeling a white-hot pang of fear snake its way down his spine.

He ran out of the bedroom and checked the apartment, finally finding House sitting in the living room on his piano bench. Wilson felt his fear slowly drip away and he smiled sadly, walking over to him. He slid onto the bench beside House, who was staring at the keys.

"Did you make the bed yourself?" Wilson asked him. House didn't respond. "You didn't have to, you know."

Something about those six words meant something to House, who flinched and shut his eyes tight. His mouth opened and he began to mouth words that Wilson couldn't understand. The fear boiled up inside of Wilson again and he immediately tried to calm House down.

He tried to put his hand on House's shoulder, but House twisted away from him and stood up from the bench too fast. He lost his balance before he could reach his cane and collapsed to the floor. Wilson jumped up and fell to the floor alongside House, who had lain flat on his stomach, hands covering each side of his face.

"Shh," Wilson frantically tried to soothe House, who had begun to whimper slightly. "It's okay, House. I'm here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

It took ten minutes to calm House down, in which Wilson could not do much without further upsetting him. When House had finally regained his placid composure, Wilson had called the hospital and informed Cuddy that he was going to be late.

An hour later, Wilson had gotten House in the car and they were driving to the hospital. Wilson felt even more guilty than he did before, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly. House stared at the dashboard, and Wilson wondered what was going on in his head.

Wilson had always wondered what went on in House's head. He had always admired his calculations and the way he solved the puzzle. Wilson wondered if, even now, if House was still figuring things out.

Wilson pulled into his parking spot in the hospital parking lot, and hesitated only for a moment before getting out of the car. House didn't open the door himself this time, and Wilson couldn't help but think it was his fault.

As the two of them walked and limped towards the door, Wilson took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. He always hated walking in through the front door with House, not because he was embarrassed, but because he hated all the sympathetic glances. Nurses and patients would follow them with eyes full of pity, never knowing really what happened.

Wilson and House braved their way though the main lobby and managed to get into an elevator by themselves. The ride up was quiet and uneventful, as always.

Something about being in the hospital changed House. Although he remained quiet and aloof, he was more relaxed. _He's in his element_, Wilson had thought, smiling to himself. House's eyes would dart back and forth, watching everyone and everything. Wilson liked to think that he was diagnosing each of them, making some wisecrack to himself about their condition.

The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, and Wilson led House to the diagnostics office. The fellows were all there, working as diligently as (if not more than) before. Foreman had been put in charge since the incident, and Wilson hoped he didn't take the job in vain.

House's condition had begun only days after Foreman's official resignation, and Cuddy had to beg him to return. Foreman had been the closest thing to House, which was the specific reason he quit in the first place. It was hard decision and Cuddy had a hard time convincing him, but he finally complied. Chase and Cameron were glad to have him back, and all three of them continued to work almost as if nothing had ever happened.

Wilson nodded to the three of them and walked House into his office, where he sat him down in his desk chair. Each day, Wilson would put House in his office, lock the door that lead to the hallway, and went to his own office to work. Usually, one of the fellows would keep an eye on him, occasionally coming into the office and talking to him.

Today, it was Chase who was House-sitting. As Wilson gave House a quick kiss on the head goodbye, Chase noticed it, and smiled to himself. He'd known for a while now that something was going on between the two of them, and he liked to see his assumptions confirmed. Wilson nodded to him again as he left for his own office, and Chase sat at the table, completing some charts.

-

It was an uneventful day for Wilson. His talk with Cuddy was helpful, his meetings went smoothly, his consults were spot-on, and he only had run over to calm House down once (Chase had accidentally touched House's hand, causing a bit of a panic attack from the both of them).

He was walking back to House's office when he felt it. The sick feeling that something wasn't right, the feeling that most people tell you is bullshit. Wilson stopped and took a look around the hallway, which was almost deserted, save for a few patients and a nurse or two. He shook off the feeling and continued walking.

He unlocked House's door and walked over to him. House was in the same position he was the last time he left him, sitting on the floor in front of his desk. "Hey," Wilson said, crouching down to meet House's line of sight. "It's time to go now." He helped House up and the two of them left for home.

When they reached the apartment and Wilson had gotten House out of the car, he noticed something. Frantically shoving his hands into all of his pockets, he swore. "Shit! Where the hell is the key?"

He still hadn't found it five minutes later, and in a fit of anger, he slammed his hand on the door. It swung open easily, and Wilson's eyes narrowed suspiciously. _I swear I locked it,_ he thought to himself, leading House inside. He sat House down on the couch and shut the door, locking the deadbolt.

Wilson had the feeling again, and didn't like how it stuck to the pit of his stomach. Letting the paranoia overtake him, he went through every room in the apartment, turning on every light and making sure every window was locked. He found no sign of an intruder, and let his paranoia ebb away, but the other feeling remained put.

Wilson made dinner, washed the dishes, undressed and put House to bed, then sat out on the couch, pretending to watch TV. He sat and thought, mulling over the events of the day, the same way he did every night, but his thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone.

_It's 11:30_, Wilson thought, reaching over to pick up the receiver. "Hello?"

"You didn't have to do that," a low voice on the other end growled. Wilson tensed and sat up straighter.

"This is Dr. James Wilson, who is this?" he asked shakily.

"He owes us, Jimmy," the voice said, ignoring Wilson's questions. "And the longer he refuses to pay, the longer we have to come over. Remember, Jimmy. He didn't have to do that."

And the line went dead.


	4. what he did

**TITLE:** Contingency  
**AUTHOR:** Captain Divine  
**SUMMARY:** Three months after the incident, Wilson has finally fallen into the routine of taking care of House.  
**PAIRINGS:** House/Wilson  
**SPOILERS:** It's not really a spoiler, but you need to know who the Arnello brothers are from 1.15 "Mob Rules"  
**DISCLAIMER: **These characters are just my playthings. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
**A/N: **I'M SORRY I LIED! I said I was going to finish about two weeks ago? Sorry. ;; Had no time. Here's chapter four, chapter five won't be far off (that will be the end). **Read and Review**, please. PS: THE HOUSE SEASON 3 FINALE WAS QUITE DISAPPOINTING.

* * *

Wilson let the dial tone resonate in his ears. _'He didn't have to do that'_ he repeated in his mind, confused. _He didn't have to do what?_ He wracked his brain, thinking of anything that would get House into trouble. _Illegal Vicodin purchase? No, then the feds would be all over it. Hookers? That makes no sense. _

Wilson came up with nothing. He jumped at the sudden sound of a voice in his ear, but almost relaxed when he realised that it was only the phone telling him to hang up or make another call. He softly placed the phone back into the cradle, and felt genuine fear settle into his body.

Wilson got up, grabbed House's long-deserted keys from the back of the desk drawer, locked the door, re-checked the deadbolt, and fastened the chain. He pulled down the shades to the windows and went in to check on House.

He pushed open the door softly, but House wasn't sleeping. Wilson watched House's hands firmly grasp his right thigh then rub hard. _Vicodin_, Wilson remembered, going off to the kitchen. After it happened, psychiatrists had warned him about House's chance of suicide, and Wilson had kept his Vicodin somewhere safe.

Wilson returned with a glass of water and a pill, and kneeled beside House's side of the bed. "House?" he whispered, holding out the pill. "I know it hurts. Take thi–"

"Drop it."

The voice was deep and forceful, basted in a thick New York accent. Wilson, more out of surprise than of obedience, dropped the glass, and it bounced loudly on the hardwood floor, cracking slightly. He looked around, searching for the voice in the shadows, and found him leaning on the other side of the door.

"Who are you?" Wilson found the words deep in his throat.

Wilson could detect a playful tone in his voice as he spoke, "You must be James Wilson. Well, Jimmy, you can call me Vinnie. Now, Jimmy, be a good boy and I won't have to kill you. Although," Vinnie laughed. "I just may do that anyway."

Wilson began to stand up slowly, but stopped halfway when he heard the cock of the gun. "Come over here," Vinnie ordered. Wilson obeyed quickly, and Vinnie shut the door to the bedroom, engulfing them in darkness. "Good. Sit down against the door. Put your hands behind your head and face the bed."

Wilson, shaking, did as he was told, but refused to take his eyes off House. Vinnie must have noticed somehow, because he laughed again, roughly tying Wilson's hands behind him to the dresser. He could feel the harsh rope slice into his skin and the blood that trickled out, warm and fast. Wilson was about to scream when Vinnie tied a gag around his mouth, and Wilson choked on it. "Watch this," Vinnie hissed, turning on the light. He sauntered to House's side of the bed and roughly grabbed a tuft of House's hair.

And then he hurt him.

Wilson, trapped against the bureau, tried to scream as he watched House be broken. The muffled cries did nothing to stop Vinnie, and Wilson eventually settled for simply crying, unable to tear his eyes away, realising that he was useless.

Vinnie was relentless. He scratched and tore, ripped and violated, and destroyed any shred of dignity House had left. Wilson watched him grate House's body with knives, strategically missing all the major arteries. "You're lucky that when I'm done with you," Vinnie had hissed once. "That you've got your doctor friend to save you."

But what hurt Wilson the most, more than seeing the man that he loved ruined before him, was that House never, not once, took his eyes off Wilson. His blue, blank eyes stared at Wilson, but they did not seem to plea for aid.

They seemed to be apologising.

And as the tears finally broke from House's eyes as he was raped, again and again, Wilson closed his eyes and wept silently to himself, not wanting to know what House was apologising for.

Through the screams and the moans and the guttural sounds of choking, Wilson heard those six words again. "You didn't have to, you know," Vinnie cooed, voice sickly sweet and drenched with hate. "All of this, you could have avoided."

Wilson opened his eyes and saw House mouthing words, Vinnie's hands still latched around his neck. "Say it out loud, bitch!" he ordered.

House tried to shake his head, but received another slash of the knife. Wilson saw House's mouth open again, and found himself unwillingly happy to hear House's voice again. "I didn't have to ignore you," he coughed. "I could have told them and avoided this all. They killed Alex because I wouldn't save him."

Wilson noted that it all sounded so rehearsed, so formulated. And even though Wilson heard House's voice speak the words, but he knew that House wasn't really saying them.

"But I won't repay you," House said suddenly. His voice was a bit more forceful, a bit more determined. "I wont give you anything."

"You don't need to give us anything anymore, Greg," Vinnie spat maliciously. His head spun around, and Wilson stared right into his eyes. "Because I'm going to take it."

And that's when Wilson saw the gun.

The muzzle was positioned squarely on the back of House's head. "Why did you let them kill Alex?" Vinnie asked, anger resurfacing in his voice. House did not respond, and the gun was cocked.

Wilson tried to yell, but the gag stopped him again. _Someone has to come,_ he thought to himself. _Someone will come_.

"You knew that they'd ruin him. They'd bring him so far down that there was no way up. You knew all of that." Vinnie spoke in broken sentences, loathing and a tearful recount of his misery dominating his tone. "I know that Alex didn't have to deal with them. But you didn't have to get involved."

Wilson stopped trying to interrupt and settled into listening. "Alex was fucked up before I met him, I know that. He screwed with the mob and they screwed back. But you knew that, Greg. And you knew what they'd do to him if you didn't save him. I confided in you, 'Dr. House'," Vinnie spat the name as if it were poison on his tongue. "You were on the good side of the Arnello family. They had influence. It's simple math, you could have saved him! But you didn't, Greg, and you let him disappear."

Wilson saw Vinnie's hands shake as he repositioned them on the gun, and tensed as he did so. Vinnie coughed loudly before yelling again. "All you had to do was care a little. Say something. Give any sort of thought to the other people in the world, and maybe I'd still have my Alex. I'd still have the only person I loved. Lucky for both of us, I won't have to do this anymore, because your final payment is in this room right now. And because you wouldn't save the man that I loved, I'm going to take yours ."

Wilson barely had time to blink before the bullet entered his chest.

* * *

**Review, please. The final chapter will come soon.**


	5. resolutions

**TITLE:** Contingency  
**AUTHOR:** Dr Captain Divine  
**SUMMARY:** Three months after the incident, Wilson has finally fallen into the routine of taking care of House.  
**PAIRINGS:** House/Wilson  
**SPOILERS:** None  
**DISCLAIMER: **Wilson and House are only my playthings. I also do not know much about the legal system (all I know I learned from Law & Order), so if it is not entirely accurate, don't hurt me.  
**A/N: **I FINISHED! I feel so accomplished, this is just about the first story I've actually completed. Quite exciting. I should have been studying for my science final, but I felt this was more important. Thanks for reading, you've all been great (thanks for all the reviews!) **Review,** and send me a message!

* * *

Wilson hated waking up in the hospital. Even falling asleep in his office unnerved him when he awoke to the sterile, contestant world of medicine. But now, as he lay on the opposite side of the glass he'd spent hours staring through not many months ago, he felt another weird feeling. 

Maybe it was the lights. Or the ugly painting on the wall over there. Or the fact that he was surrounded by almost every nurse on the second floor, Cuddy, and Dr Chase.

Wilson watched though blurry eyes as Cuddy's face twist from worry to contentment and she let herself smile. "He's back," she announced, and the whole room breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced over at Chase again, who placed the paddles back on the crash cart and nodded to a nurse to take it away. He placed the heart monitor clip back on Wilson's finger and took out his stethoscope.

"Mrphm?" Wilson muttered, attempting to say 'what happened?' Chase obviously understood him and answered.

"You were shot," he replied. "Apparently a neighbour heard the ruckus and the gunshot and called the police. They found you and House, and brought you both here. Your surgery went fine, but you crashed a few minutes ago. We're going to start you on some nitro, you should be okay though." Wilson tried to nod, but his head hurt too much to let him. He settled for mumbling again.

"Whrsee?" he slurred, wanting to know where House was. Chase said he didn't know, but would find out. Wilson tried to say one last thing before falling asleep, "Iluvim."

"He loves you too," Chase answered, walking out.

Wilson slept for the next four days, weaving in and out of dreams. Elaborate fantasies of a perfect future twisted into nightmares of a ruined life, and he tried to mix his thoughts with reality. When he finally woke again the following Wednesday, he was pleasantly surprised to see House propped up in a wheelchair beside him.

To say the least, he looked horrible. His normally unshaven face had become hopelessly covered in weeks' worth of stubble, twisted and dirty. His blank eyes were now glazed, filled with medication. New bruises adorned his body, and bandages were not enough to hide them. The only thing that hadn't changed was House's indifference. He stared forward, not making a sound when Wilson called out to him.

"House," he started, cringing at the thick cracking of his voice. House didn't look at him, and Wilson felt his throat tighten, remembering the events that had led up to this moment. _I'm the reason he's like this_, he thought, turning his head away. _I'm the one he tried to save_.

The following days consisted of House sitting beside Wilson (he learned later that Dr Chase instituted their visits), watching the medicine drip from the IV, each day feeling physically better.

Emotionally, however, Wilson was a wreck. He couldn't help from feeling guilty, like all of House's pain was directly related to his interference. He wouldn't accept that House had dug his own grave, being his usual self in the first place.

The trial was scheduled eleven days after Wilson finally checked out of the hospital. Vinnie was caught only miles from the apartment, giving himself up almost immediately. He had been sure Wilson was dead, convinced that he got his revenge. He was charged with a slew of attempted murder, assault and rape offences, and immediately pleaded 'not guilty' the moment he was informed that Wilson was not dead.

The day of the trial was ironically beautiful. The sun shone high, and only a few clouds dotted the bright blue sky. The air was humid, and although it felt good on his skin, Wilson found it catching in his throat. He coughed a lot as he drove House slowly to the courthouse, trying to focus on anything but the impending testimonies.

The courtroom was a stuffy, rectangular room with old wood furniture refurbished for the wrong era, large windows, and an unforgiving demeanor. Wilson led House to the plaintiff's table and sat him down. Wilson himself remained standing a took a look around.

Chase and Cameron sat together in the gallery. Cameron's eyes were shining already, and Chase's arm laid limply around her shoulders. Foreman was seated next to Chase, with an obligatory stare in his eyes. Cuddy was in the front row, a stern look on her face. Several other people populated the benches, many of whom Wilson did not know. He sighed and turned back to House as their lawyer arrived.

The next few hours were excruciating. The judge, Judge Mathews, was a tall woman with greying blonde hair, demeaning green eyes, and perpetually pursed lips. She constantly glanced over at House, as if wondering if he was even worth deciding over.

"Next witness," Matthews drawled, looking down to a sheet of paper. "Dr James Wilson."

Wilson stood up and walked to the stand, swore himself on the Bible (all the while laughing to himself about what House might say about that), and waited to be questioned. He looked over at Vinnie, who sat at the defendant's table with his lawyer, looking suspiciously confident with himself.

"Doctor Wilson," House's lawyer, Mr Anderson, began. "Please describe to the jury the severity of the abuse of Dr House. Have these events impended on his personality and ability to preform daily tasks?"

Wilson looked out at the gallery again, and found Cuddy's eyes. She nodded to him, and Wilson took a deep breath. "Dr House was never a bowl of sunshine before these incidents, and I will not make it seem like he was." He looked over to House, who was slumped in his chair, not paying attention. _At least that hasn't changed_, Wilson smirked to himself.

Wilson proceeded to tell the jury of House's mental stability (or lack thereof), pausing to glance over at the man in question every now and then throughout Anderson's questions, feeling worse and worse as he answered each one in detail, as House seemed to remember every incident he described. "After a few weeks, I noticed a change," Wilson said, fiddling with his tie. "He wasn't himself. He was. . . reserved."

Strategically leaving out any mention of the deeper level of their relationship, Wilson recounted the day he found House lying in a pool of his own bodily fluids, and the succeeding events. He dare not embellish Vinnie's attack, but simply telling it like it had happened. Vinnie was stone-faced during Wilson's testimony, regarding nothing. "I had no idea what was going on. Because the last thing I remember is a gunshot," Wilson finished. Anderson seemed satisfied with Wilson's answers and sat down, smiling ever-so-slightly to himself.

The mood in the room was lifted as each witness backed up the charges. Dr Lang described as much as she was legally allowed about House's condition being "directly related to life-altering trauma," and gave the jury a psychology lesson on the effects of rape on perception, and even Judge Matthews began to look convinced that even Dr House was a regular man, capable of mental breakdowns. Vinnie remained as emotionless as ever, but Wilson noticed (he always noticed) the defeated look crossing his eyes.

"And now the defendant may have a chance to make his case," Judge Matthews stated after Dr Lang finished. Wilson felt House tense as Vinnie walked past their table, but Wilson knew even a slight hand brush at this point would send him over the edge. Instead, he opted for a quiet, soothing whisper which did nothing to ease him.

"Mr Vincent Levine," Anderson began. "Did you rape Dr House?" Straight to the point.

"Yes," Vinnie answered. Anderson shot a glance over to Judge Matthews who, if such a thing was possible, pursed her lips even more.

"Mr Levine," she said coolly. "You pleaded 'not guilty' when you were apprehended. Are you revoking that plea?"

"No, ma'am," Vinnie cooed with an obvious disdain for the circumstances. "I am not, nor do I feel, guilty about what I've done."

His lawyer slapped a palm to his face and sat down.

"Mr Levine, that is not the sense of the word–"

"I know what sense you meant, ma'am. I know what the cops wanted from me. But they're not gonna get it, because no matter how much I tell them this never would have happened if they'd only gotten that arrogant bastard of a doctor out of practice, they're still gonna blame me," he spat, glaring over at House. "The minute they told me that Jimmy over there wasn't dead, I knew my job wasn't finished."

Vinnie stopped, and he stared off into the gallery for a moment, thoughts racing. "House still has everything. And because of him, I don't. And that's damn enough reason for my defence."

"He hurt you, therefore you hurt him? Mr Levine, 'an eye for an eye' is not relevant anymore," Judge Matthews seethed, eyes glaring. She held such honour for her job, and hated any who defied it. "Your defence now rests. The jury shall decide wether this is even a case anymore. Court is now in recess."

With the bang of the gavel, Wilson looked over at House. He was still staring off in an auxiliary direction, and Wilson wondered if he even knew what was going on. House finally turned his head slightly, and Wilson gave him a small smile. "I think we've won, House," he said quietly, as if House would suddenly spring back as soon as Wilson confirmed it was over.

That didn't happen, and it wasn't until twelve minutes later that the jury returned to either agree with Wilson's prediction or to ruin his future. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" Judge Matthews asked, wondering if anyone would honestly let this go. She glanced over at House, who stared at his cane with bemused interest.

"Yes. The jury finds the defendant," a tall man said, standing. "guilty on all charges." Wilson sighed happily and almost threw his arms around House. He looked over at Vinnie, who did not seemed moved by this verdict. He smiled instead, laughing to himself (his lawyer did not share the reaction.) Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, and Cameron all laughed with relief, and got up to leave.

Wilson finally felt a sense of closure as he drove House home. The day seemed brighter, the sky bluer, and the sunshine warmer. But even though he was quite assured that the set of circumstances that had led to this moment would not be repeated, Wilson still felt a deep pang of guilt deep in his stomach. House was still someone else, and may never be the same man he was before again.

And for this, Wilson wished he had never woken from the shooting.

Wilson parallel parked close to the apartment, shut the car off and sat back in the seat. House's eyes were narrowed, a look Wilson recognised. _He's sorting things out,_ he thought to himself, a feeling of joy swelling in his chest. _He's thinking._

Wilson was about to say something, but was cut off by a sudden crashing of lips.

House was touching him.

House was kissing him.

Wilson laughed into House's mouth and felt a few tears roll down his cheek with happiness.

_It's over,_ he thought, feeling the innocence of the kiss. _And he knows it._

And even though this moment was a breakthrough, Wilson knew House would never be the same. It wasn't an epiphany, and House did not follow the kiss with a crack about Wilson's rather ugly tie, but Wilson felt it was almost as good. House was free.

And that's when Wilson realised that anything was possible when left to contingency.

**End.**


End file.
